


Sweater Weather

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [62]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, also i personally believe that piotr has the best taste in sweaters, also we're kicking off our month of fall themed fics!, ignore the two swear words in here, it's all fall for all of october!, it's just a fact okay, just let me have this please, they aren't here, this is totally rated g
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 13:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20892617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: You do your best to stay warm as the chill of New York's Fall season starts to set in. Fortunately for you, your boyfriend is more than willing to lend a hand --via his massive collection of sweaters.





	Sweater Weather

There’s something to be said for Fall. The pretty color of the leaves, apple picking, pumpkin flavored everything, less bugs due to dropping temperature and reduction in food sources, Halloween and Thanksgiving, eating soup for every meal is socially acceptable again…

There is, however, one thing that can’t be said for fall: how cold it is.

You suppose, on the technicality of sheer coldness, that winter is worse, but fall is _damp_; damp and cold combined are a force unlike any other. It doesn’t matter how many layers you wear or how many space heaters you position around yourself, you can still feel the inescapable chill of the air in your bones.

Granted, you’re not necessarily opposed to cold weather; cold weather is fine. You are, however, opposed to be uncomfortable with no easy way to alleviate said discomfort. It’s just annoying.

Which is why you’re currently raiding Piotr’s sweater drawer.

Lucky for you, your boyfriend and partner in life but not in crime because he always follows the rules has quite the thing for sweaters. You would wager that it stems from growing up in Siberia, where cold is a part of day to day life, and the result is a collection of sweaters and flannel shirts that is absolutely glorious in size and variety.

You’re looking, however, for a specific sweater in particular. It’s dark gray, ridiculously soft and warm, makes Piotr’s eyes pop whenever he wears it, and _where the fuck is it_?

“_Myshka_.”

You whirl around –not guiltily, because you’ve done nothing wrong, just pay no mind to the mounds of sweaters and flannels at your feet—and stare up at your boyfriend…

Who is wearing the exact sweater you’re looking for.

_Dammit_.

Piotr crosses his arms over his chest and smiles down at you. “What are you doing?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m digging for buried treasure?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Are you cold?”

“Extremely.” You step over to him and slide your hands under his sweater and shirt, pressing your fingers against his waist. “Feel my fingers.”

Piotr hisses and immediately retracts your hands from under his clothes. “I would have been content to take your word for it.”

“It’s always best to back up your statements with tangible evidence. Also, how are you _so warm_!”

He grabs your hands before you can shove them back under his clothes and gently rubs them between his. “Fact of biology. Higher testosterone levels lead to higher body heat.”

“Just my luck,” you grumble.

“Take one of my sweaters, _moya lyubov’_,” he says encouragingly as he kisses your forehead. “I know how much you like them.”

“Yeah, but…” You smile impishly and bat your eyelashes at him as you run your fingers along the hemline of his sweater. “I like this one best.”

Piotr chuckles again, shaking his head and murmuring something in Russian that no doubt details what an absolute imp you are…

And then he peels off his sweater, gets the sleeves turned right side out again, and gently pulls it over your head.

You coo as you slide your arms through the sleeves –which you have to bunch up around your elbows because his arms are _miles_ longer than yours—and lean up on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you, baby.”

“_Konencho_.” He kisses you gently, then smiles adoringly at you while he rubs his thumb against the swell of your cheekbone. “I cannot have you being chilled all day. Just…” He looks around at the mess you’ve made, corner of his mouth curling into a fondly annoyed grin. “Please clean everything up?”

“Absolutely, babe. I promise.” You kiss him again, watch him pick out another sweater from the drawer and put it on, then blow him more kisses as he leaves.

And then you set about the task of tidying up the small disaster you made of his sweater drawer in the process of looking for your favorite sweater of his –including folding all of them how he folds them and putting them back in order. You’re not a sadist, after all.


End file.
